A Town Called Mustang (For RussianBunny)

[FrankFly]

Under the cover, and more importantly, coolness of night, Booker Stokes could just see the faint lights in the windows of the sleepy town in the distance. His black and brown pinto horse continued to carry him closer at a swift trot, and as he neared the settlement, it seemed as if the town was more lively than he had first expected. For one thing, the man could hear voices: loud, happy voices, like those heard at party or something of the sort. The building these vocalizations came from seemed to be better lit than any other structure in the area. This must have been the place that Booker had heard so much about... The Mustang Saloon. Tales about the debauchery that had taken place in the building were spread all over Arizona, and it seemed as if everyone had one to share. Needless to say, since the town was known mostly for this bar, it's reputation was less than favorable. An inspection of landmark saloon, however, would have to wait until tomorrow.

This was because Mr. Stokes was the new sheriff of the town, and it was his top priority that he got settled into his office tonight. Using the moon as a light source, he glanced at a small, hand-drawn map of the town that the marshal had given him, and found that the jail, where his office was located, was directly across the street from the infamous saloon. For some reason, Booker thought this layout would prove to be useful to him. The sheriff he was replacing may not have paid much attention to stopping drunken brawls or handling disputes between patrons, but Booker intended to change this. As daunting as the task seemed, Booker Stokes intended to clean up the den of sin that was the town Mustang.

He was now riding down the main street, and soon, both the jail and the saloon came into clear view. He dismounted his horse, and began to tie it to the post in front of his office, although he kept shooting glances at the building just behind him. Judging by the noise, something rowdy was going on inside, but as to what that something was, Booker had no idea.

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

Of course, the town itself was not awful (architecturally speaking). The buildings were stable, and the shops and homes were very diverse. A saloon, the sheriff's office and jail, a mercantile, a doctor's office, the school... However, the personalities of the individuals who lived there certainly made it much worse for the wear. Especially those who constantly attended the Mustang Saloon.

The last sheriff had left because someone had used a gun in a brawl over some gin, and when he tried intervening, the officer of the law found himself with a bullet in his left buttock. And the one before that found himself growing bald within the first year (and he was in his thirties). It seemed very impossible for one lone person to be able to reform a town as terrible as Mustang, but he was welcome to try.

Inside of the Mustang Saloon, there were several less-than-reputable clientele inside, getting alcohol and kisses from several of the women in the saloon who worked there (many for more than one reason). One of which, who called herself Scarlet, had slapped a man across his face and pushed him backwards in his chair for attempting to grope her bottom. She wasn't one of the few girls who only danced and served alcohol... but she was also the only one who fought back when someone made a mistake, drunk or no.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked at him, while his friends roared in laughter at him. "Or I'll claw out your eyes, and you'll live the rest of your days in the dark!"

"Because that would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?" Hannah, the piano player in the corner, snapped at her, as Scarlet shuffled past the instrument to get to the bar. She was blind and easily the youngest one there, and she didn't like it when someone poked fun at her, intentionally or not.

"Oh, just hush up, and keep playing. You make better tips than I do."

"Maybe if you flashed som'on' you would. Ow!" Hannah yelped, when Scarlet smacked the back of her head. "You can't hit a blind girl!"

"Watch me."

[FrankFly]

For now, the new sheriff had to ignore the sharp sounds of what seemed to be people hitting one another... If it kept up like this, he would check out the place tonight, but maybe he had just arrived at a bad time... Booker loaded a leather satchel off of the horse filled with the few possessions. At 28 years-old, the man hadn't amassed a wide collection of things, but he was happy with what he had. The marshal had given him keys to the jail, but the door seemed to be open when Booker approached it. He stuck his head inside the building, however, and it appeared to be empty... He assumed that some drunk had broken in a few nights ago. Booker was willing to believe a lot of things that happened around the town were probably caused by "some drunk".

He lit the gas lamp and inspected the jail... It was far from fancy, but it seemed to be sturdy in it's construction. There were three, large cells built from iron bars, and a fourth room in the back which seemed to be more confining for those ne'er-do-wells who might try to stick their hands through the bars. To his left, however, was a solid oak door which had the word "SHERIFF" carved into it. Entering this room, he looked around at what would be his new residence. There was a large, fancy-looking writing desk with many drawers and cubbyholes, several filing cabinets, and a simple, uncomfortable looking cot.

He began to unpack... This didn't take long. He had a few books, his trusted sixshooter, and a good amount of money. Anything else he needed, he planned to buy tomorrow. Booker had expected to spend the night settling into his new home, but, really, there was nothing else to do, except maybe read. This was very hard to do, considering the constant noise being generated from the building across the street... What WAS going on over there? What exactly made it so bad?

Curiosity got the best of Booker, and he grabbed his firearm, jammed it into it's holster, and pinned the golden star to the front of his black shirt... He left the jail, crossed and crossed the street, not knowing what reaction people would take when they saw him enter through the swinging saloon doors. Would they notice the tall, dark, and powerfully-built stranger? Or would he just blend in with the rest of the crowd? There was one way to find out. Booker pushed the doors open and entered. He was about to find out just what he was going to be dealing with...

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

It was a particularly bad night at the Mustang Saloon... which, for any other establishment, would mean that several sheriffs and deputies would likely need to be called.

Several brawls had started, to the point where the saloon girls were refusing to serve any more alcohol (because it would only end up on the floor). This made several patrons angry, and they looked ready to stomp out without paying or to start in on the brawls as well. Hannah had also stopped playing the piano, and she had carefully ushered herself behind the instrument, in case gunfire went off.

The saloon girls who weren't upstairs in beds with men, were either hiding behind the counters where they would be safe... or, in Scarlet's case, right in the middle of the action on the floor. She had quite the swing, and she managed to knock one of the particularly bothersome drunks out just as the Sheriff entered, then headed over to the piano to see that Hannah was okay.

Of course, nobody really seemed to notice his entrance, except for the one or two people choosing to leave (after paying). They nodded and muttered, "Evening," before getting quickly out of there. If they had, perhaps they would've stopped and questioned who he was and why he was there... or, if they knew his agenda, maybe they would've started acting nicer in his presence.

[FrankFly]

The room was brightly lit and gave off a warm glow, but the atmosphere was anything but warm. Booker was quickly finding out that his plans of cleaning up the place were looking doubtful, but that wouldn't stop him from trying. Slowly and carefully, he began to wade through the mayhem. He walked alongside the melee on the saloon's floor, stepped over a man who appeared to be passed out, although the large, red mark left on his right cheek suggested that somebody in the building possessed a mean left hook. He avoided a puddle of what he hoped was alcohol, and pulled up a seat at the bar, which seemed to have people hiding behind it.

"Service, please," he said, his voice clear and sharp. It was a contrast to the slurred speech exhibited by most of the patrons after their first couple drinks. Despite this, he wasn't sure if anybody could actually hear him over the small riot happening all around him.

He took off his black hat and set it on the bar's surface, revealing his dark, close-shaven haircut. This, combined with the layer of scruff on his face, gave him a formal, but very rough around the edges kind of look.

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

A few of the women behind the bar heard his voice, though it was almost like a whisper under all of the shouting in the bar. One of them poked her head up over the counter, and she looked extremely relieved that it was not a regular, or a drunkard, or - worse of all - a drunken regular.

"Sir, I'm afraid we've been told to not sell any more alcohol for the night," she said, her heavily painted face filled with worry. After all, many of them had been slapped around more than once, for refusing to serve customers, even if under orders from the management. "But if you'd like anythin' without alcohol, or any other kind o' service, we can still help ya with that..."

On the other side of the room, Scarlet and one of the other saloon girls (who had just come downstairs with her client) were dragging some men out of the saloon. They were passed out drunk, or knocked unconscious, so it'd be better if they were lying on the ground outside anyway. It would clear up more of the room, and that left only two more brawls going on in the saloon.

[FrankFly]

Booker looked at the saloon girl. He wasn't smiling, but his dark eyes had this sort of playful amusement in them that gave the same effect.

"That's perfectly understandable, ma'am," he said, giving a small nod to acknowledge the mayhem taking place on the floor. "But, you could do me a service. What would you say to accompanying me outside for a moment and answering some questions?"

Knowing this would probably be a very odd question, he made a small, subtle movement that made the light shine off of the golden star pinned over his breast, drawing attention to it.

"You're not in trouble of any kind, ma'am," he assured her. "I just need to get a feel for who is. Reckon you can help me?"

Booker smiled what he considered to be a very charismatic smile... Seeing it on a man that obviously possessed much physical power built trust very quickly.

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

The saloon girl seemed to think his intentions were less than reputable at his first inquiry. She gave him a rather saucy grin, despite the strict rule about only having clients upstairs and nowhere else. (After all, what else would be mean by 'service' and 'accompanying him'?) However, when he flashed her his badge, she figured he meant something else.

"Oh. Ohhhh, alright, sheriff," she said, giving him a small smile in return. "I can help ya all ya need..." Then, carefully stepping out from behind the counter, she lead him outside to where they could still see through the windows of the saloon, but they wouldn't be heard by anyone inside.

"What do ya need to know, sir?"

[FrankFly]

Booker replaced his hat and followed the saloon worker outside. He kept one hand on her back in a protective sort of way, and the other hand close to his hip, in case any trouble arose for either himself or his newly found "friend". It didn't, however, and they escaped the saloon without being touched by the donnybrook within. They were now on a deck like area on the front of the saloon.

"I appreciate your cooperation, ma'am," Booker said, mostly as a formality. He had a very funny way of saying "cooperation". "Now, I saw men, women, and employees of your saloon all involved in that business," he said, pointing at the window, referring to the battle raging within. "Do you think you give me your opinion on who the main troublemakers are? I assure you that I'm not going to make any decisions hastily, ma'am, so don't feel as if any names that you name are going to be hauled off."

He tilted his head towards the jail.

"Do you think you could help?"

[Bye_bye_birdie45]

"'Course I can, sir," she said, giving a small nod, then she pointed inside to two men brawling on the ground still. "Thom Johnson and his brother, Lil' Thom, fight a mightly lot after they have liquor in them... and Scarlet -"

She pointed to Scarlet, who was sitting protectively behind the piano still with Hannah, "- Scarlet gets into 'em a lot, but usually since they try smackin' her around... And Leroy Richards, o'ver yonder," (she pointed to him as well) "sometimes gets into things, but he just threw four o' five punches tonight before givin' up..."

Then she thought for a moment, and she turned back to the sheriff. "Sir, if I can ask somethin' of ya... Can ya not put Scarlet in the brig? She needs to look after her sister, yonder behind the piano. Little'un's blind as a goose."